


nothing can come between you & i

by ShirosRedKnight (SweetFanfics)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, he has a bad flashback, keith helps him through it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/ShirosRedKnight
Summary: Shiro closes his eyes, listens to the sound of the water rushing out of the faucet. Hears a quiet curse and a bump, lazily opens his eyes to ask, “Everything okay in there?”Past the open door, the faucet is turned off. “Just fine,” Keith answers back, a low grumble in his voice. “Just slipped on some water.”Exhaling a quiet laugh into the sheets, Shiro closes his eyes and wills himself to relax again. He’s one second away from dozing off when a sharp clanging noise rings in the room, followed by a loud curse. Shiro’s eyes fly open, cold sweat breaking across his brow as he finds himself curled protectively in the corner of a crowded cell. Dread fills his stomach as the guard on the outside bangs something hard against the door, the harsh clang-clang-clang warning the prisoners to make room. He flinches as the door opens, willing himself to look as small and inconspicuous as possible. He hides behind a curled fist, pressing the cool knuckles against his forehead and thinks, Please don’t take me. Please don’t take me. Please not me.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this beautiful (nsfw) fanart](https://shirosredknight.tumblr.com/post/150234877030/muddy-lions-well-whispers-i-wrote-a-thing-for) by muddy-lions _(:”3

With every breath Shiro takes in, his body cools down. Eyes closed, Shiro focuses on the sensation of a few heavy drops of sweat rolling down his side and soaking into the sheets. His muscles grow increasingly lax as lethargy starts to sink in post-orgasm. He contemplates moving off his belly and pulling a sheet over his upper body. Or maybe taking a shower and cleaning up. But he’s just so comfortable in this spot where he’d flopped down in after pulling out of Keith.

 

The other man is still in the bathroom, having shuffled over there maybe fifteen minutes ago to clean up. Shiro closes his eyes, listens to the sound of the water rushing out of the faucet. Hears a quiet curse and a bump, lazily opens his eyes to ask, “Everything okay in there?”

 

Past the open door, the faucet is turned off. “Just fine,” Keith answers back, a low grumble in his voice. “Just slipped on some water.”

 

Exhaling a quiet laugh into the sheets, Shiro closes his eyes and wills himself to relax again. He’s one second away from dozing off when a sharp clanging noise rings in the room, followed by a loud curse. 

 

Shiro’s eyes fly open, cold sweat breaking across his brow as he finds himself curled protectively in the corner of a crowded cell. Dread fills his stomach as the guard on the outside bangs something hard against the door, the harsh clang-clang-clang warning the prisoners to make room. He flinches as the door opens, willing himself to look as small and inconspicuous as possible. He hides behind a curled fist, pressing the cool knuckles against his forehead and thinks, _Please don’t take me. Please don’t take me. Please not me_.

 

His breath stutters when a warm palm comes to rest gently on top of his fist. His eyes fly open to peer into Keith's concerned dark ones. A softer puff of air whispers past his cheek when Keith quietly asks, “What is it?”

 

Shiro knows his mouth is open because every inhale is cool and sharp as inhaling sharps of ice. He knows he's moving his lips to answer Keith because he can feel them pressing together into soundless words. But nothing comes out. Instead of words, Shiro shakes. The memory of harsh hands grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the cell, kicking and protesting, is too much for him to bear.

 

Squeezing his eyes shut again, Shiro swallows and rasps, "Please. I need..."

 

Keith understands and moves immediately, climbing back into bed. Keith’s body is a line of firm heat against his back as he covers Shiro's body. His hand filled with strength as he squeezes Shiro’s fist. Voice soft and soothing as he whispers sweet nothings into Shiro’s ear and kisses his cheek, face, nose. His other hand comes up to pet Shiro’s mussed hair, stroking the short strands in a comforting to-and-fro motion that’s actually quiet soothing.

 

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here for you.” Keith repeats over and over again in between quick kisses.

 

Eventually, Shiro thinks he’ll actually come to believe that. In this moment? He takes a juddering breath and lets it go, feeling Keith’s body rise and fall with his. Stares at Keith’s white knuckled grip and feels his heart trip over a loose pebble. Soaks in the comforting weight of Keith's body anchoring him. Once he’s got his breathing back under control, Shiro forces his body to relax. One muscle at a time.

 

The first part of him that he relaxes is his hand. Uncurls his fist with a quiet sigh of “I’m okay now.”

 

Keith’s hair tickles his ear and his buzz cut, causing him to shiver. A soft kiss brushes the shell of his ear. Keith's nose applies soft pressure into Shiro’s cheek, concerned more than playful. The cheek kiss that follows is longer, dry, and filled with relief. Shiro soaks each emotion in and wills it to warm him up.

 

Behind him, Keith shifts. Takes his hand back, slips it under Shiro’s right, and lightly curls it over Shiro’s hand. The heel of their palms just barely brush together. It’s a thoughtless gesture of comfort and it grounds him more than anything else. Except maybe the head stroking still going on.

 

“Wanna talk about it?” Keith's inquiry is soft, bare of anything except tender concern. 

 

Staring at their joined hands, Shiro exhales. “Got a memory back of my time with the Galra.”

 

His tone is distracted, more entranced by the steady back and forth lines Keith’s thumb strokes into his palm. He can just barely feel the pressure of it and finds it amazing. Sure the sensation is a little numbed and he can’t feel the rough callouses on Keith’s palm… but he can still feel part of the touch. 

 

Somehow, impossibly, Keith presses in closes. His chest is snug against Shiro's scarred back, soft cock pressing insistently in between Shiro’s ass. Keith doesn’t say anything. Just covers Shiro, trembling with barely restrained emotion. Surrounded by his lover, Shiro lets the last of the memory go with a deep inhale.

 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs quietly, turning his face to kiss Keith’s thin lips. It's awkward because Shiro's still on his chest but good. Repeats his words once more for good measure, partially believing it this time. Keith relaxes against him, tension bleeding out of him when Shiro’s lips capture his in another kiss. It’s a longer kiss but still quick. A reassurance and thank you all wrapped up in a pretty, neat bow. Quiet delight fills him when Keith’s hand goes back to stroking his hair. If he was a cat, this was the point he’d start purring.

 

Keith presses lingering kisses on Shiro’s jawline, tracing the shape of it before murmuring, “You need to shave.”

 

“In the morning,” he answers, wriggling a little as Keith shifts. The other paladin’s cock is still soft but it’s shifted to press against Shiro’s perineum now. It feels ticklish but good. Shiro can’t help but squirm a little. Whether to tease and tempt or just get comfortable, he can’t say.

 

Keith’s laugh is low and husky, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Takashi.” But he pulls away, brow furrowed with concern, "We don't have to do this."

 

Shiro's answer is to open his legs a couple of inches in answer, giving Keith room enough to press his cock more firmly against Shiro. And rolls his ass back against Keith's crotch. That is _completely_ deliberate. The curse which tumbles out of Keith’s lips worms into way into Shiro’s shoulder, burying itself under his skin when blunt teeth press into the firm flesh. The pain-pleasure makes his hips buck and dick twitch, stirring with interest as they continue to tease each other.

 

His hips grind against the sheets, giving his dick some much needed friction to harden all the way. Meanwhile, Keith’s dick is erect as well, and every other stroke brushing against Shiro's hole. He leaves sticky, wonderful trails of pre-come his wake that make Shiro moan.

 

“What do you want?” Keith asks, voice dark and low. Presses a wet kiss to the nape of Shiro’s neck, right underneath his shaved hairline. 

 

Shivering, Shiro spreads his legs a little more and answers, “You. Want you.”

 

His stomach turns molten when he feels Keith’s cock head pause against his hole. And _press_. A drop of pre-come kisses the ring of muscle. Shiro bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to whine.

 

“Okay,” Keith answers, beginning to shift off Shiro’s back, “Just need to get the lub-”

 

Shiro’s hand grabs Keith’s hand as best he can, forcing him to stay, “No. Like this. Keep going.”

 

A small pause and Keith’s on Shiro’s back again, now grinding with greater earnestness against Shiro’s ass. There’s no finesse involved this time, or any of the playful whispers. There’s just an intense heat, sweat, and intimacy which drives away the last remnants of darkness clinging to Shiro’s memory like hot tar. 

 

Keith comes first, shooting his load across Shiro’s back and with a hard groan, dick growing slicker. Shiro moans, wriggling in place to encourage a few drops of hot come to roll down… down… and catch against his twitching hole. And that’s it. He comes in messy spurts against the sheets, hips grinding away to drag his release out.

 

“Fuck,” Keith breathes into his shoulder, laughing faintly. “So much for cleaning up.”

 

With a weak little laugh, Shiro says, “We could take a bath once we’re…”

 

The rest of his sentence is drowned out by Keith’s drawn out moan, “Yes. Bath.” He nuzzles Shiro’s neck, kissing away a few sweat drops before asking, “In a couple of minutes?”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, squeezing Keith’s hand, which he’s still holding, and pressing it’s back against his shoulder. 


End file.
